Mother's Day
by pastries and turtlenecks
Summary: Nabulungi had never gotten the chance to celebrate Mother's Day before.


"Uh-huh, yeah, I'm having a great time, Mom, everyone's really nice – yes, Elder Price is good too, and – uh-huh, I'm listening to him and doing what he tells me, don't worry…"

Elder Cunningham sat alone in the living room of the mission center, practically tethered to the wall by the short cord attached to the old-fashioned phone. It was the second Monday in May, which meant it was mother's day – one of the only two times per year where they were allowed to phone their families while in Uganda. The other Elders were out with the villagers, having agreed to allow each man some privacy while he spoke to his parents. Even though they wouldn't have been able to hear what his family was saying, Arnold was glad none of the guys were there – too many embarrassing pet names were being repeated into his ear by his mother.

Mrs. Cunningham had just started lamenting the fact that Mrs. Sawyer's Easter basket was more popular than her own at the Church's Easter picnic just a few weeks ago when Arnold heard someone enter the mission center. "Hold on, Mom – I don't know what Jesus would think of Mrs. Sawyer not using real grass in her basket – there's someone at the door, I'll be right back, don't hang up, okay?"

Arnold couldn't even set the phone down on the table; the cord was so short, so he just let it hang from the receiver. He rounded the corner to the front door and almost collided with Nabulungi had it not been for her quick reaction time. "Oh, hey, Nabajamba, what's up, girl?"

Having given up correcting Arnold's mispronunciations of her name ages ago, Nabulungi explained herself. "Elder Michaels wanted to teach some of the villagers how to play basketball, so he asked me to come here and get one. Is that it?" she asked, pointing across the room at a soccer ball that sat with some board games.

"No, that's – here, I'll get it for you," Arnold said, heading over towards their pile of activities. "I'll just be another minute, Mom," he said quickly, leaning down towards the phone that still hung off the wall.

He found the basketball and handed it to Nabulungi – it was a little flat, but it would have to do. "Were you on the phone? I am sorry for interrupting," Nabulungi apologized, holding the ball under her arm.

"Oh no, it's fine, don't worry about it!" Arnold said quickly, ever-nervous of accidentally upsetting her. "It's just my mom. Rule number ninety says we can't call anyone on the phone, but the mission president said we could call our parents on Christmas and Mother's Day. And, well, it's Mother's Day, so…" he picked up the phone and held it back up to his ear, "hi Mom."

Nabulungi nodded slowly. "What is Mother's Day?"

"It's this holiday where you're supposed to tell your mom you love her and stuff, and make her breakfast in bed and do your own laundry and stuff like that," Arnold explained. His mom, still on the line, piped up to remind "Arnie-Pie" not to use the stove himself after what happened a few Mother's Days ago, but Arnold ignored her. He covered the bottom of the phone with his hand. "Do you maybe wanna say hi?" he asked Nabulungi slowly, allowing himself time as he asked to decide if that was a good idea or not.

But he got the sentence out, and Nabulungi smiled and nodded.

"Uh, Mom, remember that girl I told you about in some of my letters?" He glanced over his shoulder at Nabulungi and blushed a little bit. "Yeah, the pretty one," he said quickly in a hushed tone, "well, she's here, now. Do you wanna talk to her?" He waited a moment before handing the phone to Nabulungi.

"Hello Mrs. Cunningham! It is nice to meet you, kind of," Nabulungi said brightly. "My name is Nabulungi." ("Oh! Arnie-Pie told me it was Nosferatu; I did think that was a bit odd…"). She chatted politely with Mrs. Cunningham for a few minutes, and Arnold held his breath nearly the entire time, worried his mom would say something to offend Nabulungi, or _worse_, say something too embarrassing for him to redeem himself.

Finally, "Oh… Um, yes, I will. Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham, I will give you back to Arnold now," Nabulungi said softly, her previous cheeriness gone in the blink of an eye. She handed the phone back to Arnold and plopped down on one of the sofas, her head hanging a bit.

Arnold continued to speak with his mother, occasionally glancing over at Nabulungi, hundreds of possible scenarios running through his head at warp speed. What could his mother possibly have said to her? Was it about him? Finally, he finished his conversation, and after many "Yeah, I love you too, now I really have to go,"s, he finally hung up. He took a deep breath; talking to his mom was always exhausting, before sitting down next to Nabulungi. "Hey, um, are you okay?"

"Your mother is very nice," Nabulungi said flatly.

"Yeah, she is," Arnold replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did she, um, say something to you that bothered you?" he nervously asked, not sure what he was expecting, but knowing it would be bad.

Nabulungi shrugged.

"'Cause if it was about me, I promise, I don't do that anymore, I –"

"It wasn't about you," Nabulungi said with a small smile. "She said," she wrung her hands together in her dress, "she told me to remember to tell my mother how much I love and appreciate her today."

Relief washed over Arnold for just a moment, ecstatic she hadn't divulged any awkward secrets about him, before the feeling was quickly replaced with shame. _How_ could he not have mentioned Nabulungi's mother had passed away? That seemed like a pretty important detail to tell someone before letting them talk to her on _Mother's Day_ of all times.

"Aw gee, Nala, I'm sorry…" He hovered his hand over her shoulder for a moment, intending to reassuringly rest it there, but decided it was too clammy and would only serve to gross her out, not comfort her. "I didn't really think that through, I guess…"

She shook her head. "It is not your fault, Elder Cunningham. It just made me wish I could have known about this Mother's Day before, so I could have…" She turned slightly, not wanting him to see the tears that prickled at her eyes.

Hastily wiping his hand on his pant leg, Arnold put his arm around Nabulungi's bony back. "Hey, I'm sure your mom knows you love her. And she's probably up with Heavenly Father right now, uh, shouting, 'I know you love me, I love you too,' like how my dad shouts at the TV when he's watching sports," he said.

Nabulungi was silent, but she shifted slightly to lean on Arnold's shoulder. They sat silently for a few moments, Arnold too nervous to speak again, before he finally cleared his throat and threw caution to the wind. "Maybe you could tell me about her?" When she didn't immediately respond, he continued in a slightly panicked tone, "I mean, if you wanna, you don't have to if you don't wanna, that was a dumb suggestion I'm sor-"

"Her name was Rahma," Nabulungi said gently, cutting off Arnold's hasty speech. "It means compassion."

Arnold decided to keep his mouth shut this time and just let Nabulungi speak. He nodded, prompting her to continue.

"It fit her very well. Everybody in the village loved her very much. Even the animals liked her. And she had such a beautiful smile," Nabulungi explained slowly.

"Well, she must have, if you go yours from her," Arnold dared to say, earning one of those smiles from Nabulungi.

"When I was a little girl, she would tell me all kinds of stories. She tried reading me books she found at the market, but I liked the stories she came up with much better. She had stories for all occasions – happy stories, sad stories, stories to tell me when I was afraid…" She didn't bring up the story of paradise; she wasn't about to remind Arnold of the distress he'd unintentionally caused her because of it when he'd first arrived.

She continued to talk endlessly about her mother, and Arnold watched her face closely, how her eyes crinkled at the happy memories, turned solemn and downcast at the hardships, and every emotion in between. Finally, after she finished explaining her favorite meal Rahma would make for her, Arnold dared to ask, "What happened to her?"

Nabulungi took a slow breath before explaining. "She did not get the AIDs until after I was born. Baba was very upset, he was sure he had given it to her, but she would not blame him. She got very sick with pneumonia during the rainy season when I was nine years old. I wanted to stay with her all the time when she could not leave her bed, but Baba did not want me to get sick as well. And then one day when we went to check on her, she would not wake up."

Arnold was impressed by Nabulungi's steady tone of voice as she delivered such a devastating story. He tried to imagine something like that happening to his own mom. He decided he'd be a bawling mess trying to explain it. He didn't know what to say, so he just pulled her a little closer to his side.

They sat in silence once more. Arnold was desperate to say _something,_ but he knew whatever came out of his mouth would probably be awkward and inappropriate as usual. Much to his relief, Nabulungi broke the silence.

"I just wish I could have told her I love her one more time before she was gone."

"Well," Arnold began, sliding his arm off her back and fumbling for her hand, "why don't you tell her now?" Nabulungi stared skeptically at him. "We do it all the time at Church. You just kinda, uh," he guided her onto her knees and knelt down next to her, "sit like this, and look up at the sky – er, ceiling, I guess, and talk to the people up in Heavenly Father's kingdom."

Nabulungi sat silently with her eyes closed for a few moments. Arnold watched her patiently, unable to even imagine what was going through her head. Finally, she tilted her head up slowly, and muttered something in a language Arnold didn't understand, before translating it more firmly into English, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama. Baba and I will always love you very much."

Arnold smiled gently and reached over to take her hand again. Nabulungi laced their fingers together and turned to look at him, her watery smile growing by the second. They sat like that until Elder Michaels walked through the doorway, wondering what was taking his basketball so long.


End file.
